Just Go
by DaeDreemer
Summary: SE. Post 3.13. Serena tells Eric about her night.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

**Author's Note**: Tiny quick SE, because I missed Eric's presence (I want to squee over NS a bit). Thank you for reading! And I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"You seem happy."

Serena's spinning down the hall, holding the edges of the coat closed, when she hears her little brother's voice. Eric's standing in the doorway of his room, wearing an old Rangers t-shirt, pajama bottoms and socks; he's watching her with a half-smile on his face and she squeaks, "Eric!" loudly into the quiet suite, bounces on her feet once with a laugh and then launches herself at him. She wraps her arms around him tight and presses a kiss to his forehead when she pulls back, "You're home! Finally!"

He laughs a little, steps back into his room and shrugs her off lightly, "Yeah, couple hours ago. And you, you're dress-less…" he points out.

And she spins past him into his room. "I'm glad you're home!" She breathes on a giggle, stops in the middle of his room, and smiles at him, "I'm _glad." _

He nods, amused, "I can see that." He motions towards her, smiling a little, "Is that what you wore?" He studies the barely visible slip underneath the short jacket, "I thought it was an embassy dinner…?"

Serena bites her lip, tries to hold back her grin, and blinks innocently at him. "You don't like it?" She opens the jacket and looks down at her satin slip, "Doesn't it look like a _French _negligee?"

Eric rolls his eyes and moves to sit at the edge of his desk, "Oh yeah, I bet it went over real well," he teases.

And she giggles, the grin breaking free across her face, "I _had _a dress!" She confesses, drops her arms and spins around once, "I think you would have liked it."

Eric nods, "Where'd the dress go?"

She shrugs expansively, kicks off her shoes, "I don't even _know, _E. And my _jacket _too, gone."

"You're wearing a jacket that isn't yours?"

"Yep, it's nice though, right?"

"Very nice…" he placates with another smile— but really, it's… just a black jacket.

She's taking it off now, holding it out and looking at it critically. "Not exactly _very, _Eric," she corrects, and then clutches it to her chest, eyes closed, "Sentimental value though."

"Whose is it?"

Her eyes open, "Oh… hmm, I don't know… some lady's..." she shrugs and then backs up, drops down onto his bed.

"Why do you have some lady's jacket?" He wonders smilingly, it's good to be home.

"Because mine just _vanished,_ and it was a gift too…" she sighs a little and then brightens again, because who _cares _about that jacket; Nate had grabbed _this _one and wrapped her up in it. She shoots Eric a smile, "I want to hear _all _about your trip, like _every _day of it."

"We talked almost every day," Eric reminds her.

"I know,but _still." _She falls back on the bed, lays there; stares up at the ceiling, still clutching the jacket.

He moves to the bed and sits next to her, doesn't lie down though. "Yeah, okay," he agrees and then pokes her in the side, "So dinner was good then?" He asks, because the last embassy dinner he'd had to go to had been so boring he'd almost fallen asleep before the consommé was removed.

She laughs, squirms away from him a bit, before falling still. "_Best first date, ever." _She tells him, eyes on the ceiling as she smiles to herself.

He smiles too; because her answer has nothing to do with the event. "Who'd you go with?"

"Oh…" she looks over at him; "You remember— well, no, you wouldn't…" she starts over, "This guy, Damien. We met when I was at boarding school…"

"Ah," Eric nods— the Lost-Serena-Months. "And he's really nice? This guy?"

Serena purses her mouth in though, "Hmm, kind of... not really actually. He's _weirder _than I remember him," she admits.

"So how's it the best first date?"

She blinks, "What?"

"You just said that—"

"Oh!" She giggles and lifts her arm to shove his shoulder, "Not _him." _She laughs again, to herself, looks up at the ceiling again, closes her eyes and keeps silent for a beat, keeps it all to herself, _savors_ it (how they'd waited a long time, how they don't have to wait anymore).

When she opens her eyes and looks over at Eric, she knows she's fairly glowing, but it's okay to do that, right? To just be _happy. _"Nate," she says simply, "The date was with Nate." And then she laughs, "And that totally rhymed."

Understanding flickers over Eric's expression, "Oh okay, yeah, that makes way more sense."

And Serena sits up abruptly, "It _does _right?!" She shifts closer to him, "It makes such _good _sense and we don't have to go slow at all, we can just _go _and not worry about it… fast, slow, medium, whatever. Just _us._"

Eric blinks at the flurry of words, and then pats her knee, "You're a little drunk, huh?"

Serena shakes her head. "Not on alcohol," she answers softly; she's drunk on the night air and Nate's laugh and feel of his hand holding hers.

She lays her head on Eric's shoulder, explains, "Blair told me to go slow and to play games— because everybody needs them, right…?"

Eric blinks, "Uh… actually, no, I don't think—"

"— and then Nate uninvited me to the dinner," she continues, pauses with small frown on her face, "Hmm, gotta make a rule where that's not allowed anymore," she mutters, before pressing on, "And then I went with Damien so he'd be jealous, so it'd be a game."

"I don't think Nate—"

"— but that was just silly," she concludes, lifts her head and looks at him, "And Nate didn't like it at all."

Eric's lips quirk a little, "Yeah no, I can imagine he wouldn't."

She presses her lips together, contains another smile, "It was kind of a bad idea."

"You think?"

"Yeah, don't tell Blair I said so though," she whispers.

He smirks at her, "Okay, but you owe me one."

Her eyes narrow, "You owe _me _one. For going away. Right when I would need advice," she slings an arm around his shoulders and falls back onto the bed, pulling him with her, "Never allowed to go away again."

He laughs, scoots out of her hold, but doesn't sit up. He lies there side-by-side with her and thinks again, that it's nice to be home. "You could have called me."

"It was a crisis, Eric!" She protests with a giggle in her voice, "Who can make phone calls in the middle of a crisis!" She bites her tongue and shushes her thoughts when she remembers calling Damien— that was _part _of the crisis.

"A crisis?" Eric echoes skeptically, "I think I missed that part of the story."

"Nate was going to _gorge himself on ice cream!" _

He looks over at her, "Isn't that how every single one of your birthday parties has ended for the last, what? Fifteen years?"

And Serena laughs, brings a hand to her mouth, closes her eyes and just _giggles; _because there're flashes of Nate through the years in her mind— ice cream messes on his face and shirt and fingers, chocolate sometimes, mint-chocolate chip others, and sundaes with too many maraschino cherries; giddy laughter and bright blue eyes and not-really-exasperated _Okay, fine, you can finish it for me_'s_. _

"Wow, you really had a good time, huh?"

Eric's voice tugs her out of memories and she blinks her eyes open at him, nods once. "Best time," she answers sincerely.

And he smiles at her, watches her in silence for a moment; he's happy she had such a good time, that she's so happy, that she—

He sits up with an abrupt jump, "Oh _jeez _Serena— is that—? Your _dress!?" _

She puckers her lips, gives him an unrepentant look, "Well _that _took a while to sink in."

He huffs. "I'm _jetlagged." _

She sighs, considers him, "Okay, I'll give it to you."

"In the case of this," he amends, "Blair is right— slower. Like no-sex-in-public, slower."

Serena shakes her head, "We don't need a speed. We're _us, _'member? No pace, just _go." _And then she adds, "Blair was making a _point _with the ice cream," she tells him, "About pacing… but it's silly. And Nate really loves ice cream anyway."

Eric stares at her for another beat. And then he sighs, "Okay, whatever, I give up." He lies back down, "M'glad you're happy."

She giggles, shifts closer to him. "I'm glad you're home."

He nods; nudges her leg with his sock-clad foot, "Try not to lose your clothes next time."

"Oh yeah, top priori— okay _second_ priority." She amends, with a quick smile in his direction.

Eric opens his mouth to tell her to go to her room and change when she spins around on the bed so fast it startles. One second she's lying on her back next to him, looking up at the ceiling, and the next she's on her stomach, jacket pressed under her and propped up on her elbows, looking into his face.

"You meant it right? When you said it makes sense?"

The words are rushed together and Eric doesn't respond right away; because the question is alarmingly serious, the blue of her eyes burningly steady, and his words scatter away under the weight of it, the pressure. It'd been a throw-a-way comment of his— of course Nate made more sense than some guy from four years ago— but that wasn't what she was asking him. He stares at Serena, with her hair a mess and her make-up smudged away and her eyes on his face, _waiting _for his words— and he thinks she might be asking him to validate something for her; something he can't quite see.

"Eric…?" She prods.

And he nods slowly, "Yeah… I…" He thinks about his sister and the dreamy smile on her face when she hadn't known he'd been watching, the way she'd slowly twirled down the hallway with eyes closed, her expression happy… hopeful… _younger, _somehow_; _like a nine-year-old Serena who knew this year their Mom would spend the whole summer with them.

It's scary— that expression. "I don't know," he says very carefully, he doesn't want to ruin any of this for her, doesn't want to dim a single watt of that smile, "I think, yeah you do… make sense…" he says firmly, because Nate and Serena had always matched in more ways than he could count (but… their mother never spent the whole summer with them), "But, I don't know exactly what—"

"I don't know either," Serena interrupts and she looks… strangely comforted, calm even, as she says it. "Nate doesn't either," she adds confidently, "We don't know…" she puts her chin in her hands, "… what this is, really, exactly; except that it's us, you know?"

Eric stares for a moment and then laughs a little, breathes out; relieved. "Okaaay…" He draws the word out, makes a motion with his hand for her to elaborate.

Serena nods. "Yeah, and we don't have to know; we can just figure it out as we go…" there's a smile that starts inside her belly and spreads all over, invades her gaze, and pushes the corners of her lips upwards; it washes over Eric as she says simply, "And I can get it right, I can get this right." Because all she has to do is go, just go, no pace or games required.

Eric bumps his hand on the top of her head, "You're sure you're not drunk?" He teases.

She nods, lowers her arms and plops her head down on them, keeps her face turned to him. "I just, had a really good night," she says it quietly because it's more than that, bigger than that; bigger than everything, because it's pulsing inside her, how this is going to work, her and Nate, how easy it is, how she can do anything if she can do _them_.

Eric nudges her again with his foot, "M'glad. Just remember— no losing clothes next time."

She giggles breathily, content and sleepy suddenly, "I'll make sure Nate keeps track of all my clothes— it'll be his official title, _clothes-tracker._" She moves a hand and pokes him in the shoulder, "Tell me about your trip. I want details. Names, addresses, colors, flavors…"

And Eric rolls his eyes, "You're going to fall asleep. On _my _bed."

She blinks, a little sleepily, "Will not."

He laughs.

"Come on. Tell me."

And he sighs, a little sleepily himself; but he smiles anyway and tells her (starts with the aquaphobic concierge he'd met in the hotel lobby— neurotic, but cute).

* * *

.Fin.


End file.
